


Memory Trips And Scraps Of Paper

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 18:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage





	Memory Trips And Scraps Of Paper

The paper was old and a little stained, but it still held together well as you tugged it from the pile, scanning the title. It was the old-fashioned blue-lined paper, written in a pen that was clearly running out of ink. “The Greatest Country In The World”, you read and Dean stopped where he was digging through shelves and looked at you. “By Dean Winchester.”

His eyes narrowed. “Where’d you find that?”

You turned back to the shelf, flicking through the rest of the papers. “There’s a whole bunch of stuff here from you and Sam.” Another one came free in your hand. “This one is by Sam. His handwriting was always better than yours, huh?”

Dean huffed and went back to rummaging, picking out bits of trash and putting aside anything that could be useful. You’d taken one side of John Winchester’s old storage locker and he’d taken the other. It was a big project; you weren’t certain how John had kept track of this many places, and this many things.

“It’s sweet,” you commented, pulling a few more pages free. There were drawings, project outlines, essays, all articulate and neat, usually with A’s and B’s on the top. “Dude, you were smart.”

A scoff echoed out from where Dean had his head buried in between two shelves. “What do you mean ‘were’?”

“I don’t think my parents kept any of this stuff.”

Dean stood up straight, an angry expression twisting his features. “Do you wanna stop?” he asked, one hand in a fist. “I don’t need a Show & Tell of the Winchester’s fake childhood.”

You blinked at him, shocked by his outburst. “Dean, your dad kept your essays and school reports. You should be happy.”

He snorted. “No. My dad raised me to be a soldier. That kid there? That kid was to keep child services off our backs. That was the mask.” His head shook furiously and he avoided your eyes as you stared at him, still clutching the papers. “I’m not up for a trip down memory lane. It’s trash. Toss it.”

Hurt lashed at your chest and you frowned, still watching him as he returned to his task, a scowl embedded on his face. To you, this was evidence his father was proud of him, his father loved him. To Dean, it was just a reminder of the things his father didn’t do as opposed to what he did.

You put the papers down, resisting the urge to go through them all. It made your stomach churn to think of how little self-worth Dean had. He’d proved it when he’d gone off to face Amara, ready to die, ready to turn his back on everything, including you.

It was an unspoken romance. Well, not a romance, really. More like friends-with-benefits. Who happen to remain exclusive. You didn’t share drawers or buy cutesy gifts for anniversaries and birthdays. The hunt came first and leaving whatever it was between you was easier this way in case the worst happened.

Or you’d thought it would be anyway. Over the year you’d been with Sam and Dean, you’d learned that the worst was likely to happen often and despite telling yourself not to, you’d fallen in love with this flawed hero. The one who hated himself and despised his past. Who couldn’t see all the good he’d done for the little bad.

Another few hours and the storage locker was cleared. Dean loaded the things to keep into the trunk and the trash bags went into the dumpster. You didn’t say a word as you got into the car and waited for him to lock up. When he climbed in, the car shook and Dean turned the key in the ignition, silently pulling away from the storage locker.

You didn’t know what to say, simply staring out of the window as he gunned the Impala out of the city and back towards home. It was only the start of a huge job, three down and eighteen to go, but you had to check everything and inventory every item John had picked up over the years.

Dean didn’t care about the memories that needed saving too.

He turned the car onto the interstate; it wasn’t busy at this time of the ridiculously early morning and he was more accustomed to driving at night. It made the trip slightly easier, although questions sat in your mind and stewed.

Why couldn’t Dean see his own value?

Why couldn’t he see the man you did?

Why couldn’t you just admit you love him and take what happiness you could get?

They were going to rot there, you knew it. Dean didn’t do emotional confrontations -  _ no, chick flick moments _ \- and he didn’t do relationships. Nothing was concrete; they could die tomorrow. They probably would, even if it didn’t stick.

Again.

You didn’t even notice when you dozed off, lights from the interstate periodically highlighting your face. Dean looked at you, once, his gaze lingering until he realized he was drifting into another lane. He turned his attention back to the road, wanting nothing but to be home.

The uneven ground of the bunker driveway jostled you awake and you sat up, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes and yawning widely. Through the trees, you could see the sun beginning to peek over the horizon and one glance at Dean confirmed his exhaustion.

“You should have got me to drive,” you chided softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinched back like he was burned and the move cut you to the core. “I’m fine,” Dean grunted, guiding the car into the garage and parking her in the middle. You sat with your hands in your lap, staring at the dash; Dean got out without saying a word.

Tears stung your eyes and you didn’t move, listening to him grab a few bags from the trunk and slam it, disappearing into the main bunker. The tears fell and the sobs came, making your chest hurt with each breath.

*****

It took a little while to gather your wits together and head into the bunker. Sam was up and on the go already, about to leave for his run and he gave you a cursory nod before jogging off with his headphones in and water bottle in hand. You wandered down to the bedrooms, finding Dean’s door shut.

For a few seconds, you hovered, staring at the handle as if he might miraculously open it and grant you entry… but somehow it felt like something had shifted.

You’d upset him. So he was shutting you out.

Turning away, you moved to your room, dragging your feet behind you, trying not to cry again. You felt pathetic and useless like you’d lost the one good thing in your life. When the bedroom door clicked shut, you couldn’t hold the tears back anymore and you pulled the few sheets of paper out of your pocket.

Keeping too much would have given you away, so you’d selected Dean’s school report from tenth grade, one of Sam’s creative writing stories and a drawing from each of them. John had put post-it notes on each page to remind himself when and where they were from.

How could they think that John didn’t love them? You knew his revenge on the demons that took his wife had destroyed any semblance of a normal life for the boys and that he was possibly half-mad with grief. But Dean and Sam were heroes, ready to go to the end of the earth to save the damn thing; there’s no way John wouldn’t be proud of all they’d achieved.

You tucked the papers away in your drawer and crawled into bed, not bothering to remove your clothes. Despite the snooze in the car, you were exhausted, and it didn’t take long to fall asleep.

A few hours of sleep left you feeling a little better and it was just after noon when you emerged from the bedroom and headed down to the showers. Sam was researching in the library, listening to one of his podcasts on the big stereo which probably meant Dean hadn’t surfaced yet.

The quick shower and a change of clothes led you to your next obstacle - food. Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since the shitty burger joint that Dean had stopped in at on the way to the storage place last night.

There wasn’t a lot in the kitchen but you scraped together some chips and a sandwich, carrying them through to the library to join Sam.

“Hey,” he greeted. “How’d you sleep?”

“Okay,” you replied, shrugging. “No Dean?”

Sam shook his head; the predicted response. “He probably won’t rise from his grave for another few hours.”

“That was a dark comparison,” you chuckled, tucking into your food. Sam smirked at the response, going back to his podcast and research. The podcast was a lengthy one about some sort of historical event in Japan and you couldn’t follow any of it, instead pulling your phone out to check the news.

“Did you find anything last night?” Sam asked and you looked up, staring at him with a mouthful of baloney.

“Huh?”

Sam’s eyebrows lifted. “The storage locker.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” you coughed and dropped your sandwich, wiping your hands on your jeans, “a couple of bags I think Dean brought in. You’ll have to ask him.” Sam hummed and returned to his laptop. You finished your sandwich and stood up, leaving the younger Winchester to it. 

You were halfway through sorting your laundry out when Dean shuffled into the kitchen. His eyes looked sore and red-rimmed - had he been crying? Deciding not to ask, you kept your back to him, focusing on separating out the whites, the colors and the too-ruined-by-bloodstains-to-be-more-than-a-rag.

He didn’t say anything to you, fixing himself a cup of coffee before leaving the kitchen, and you carried on with your laundry, silent tears falling down your cheeks. When you were done, you avoided the library, hearing the boys talking, and went straight to your room, closing the door.

The drastic thoughts that started to crowd your mind were getting worse. Dean hated you. You’d dragged up a past he didn’t want to remember, hurt him, upset him. He’d want you to leave. He’d definitely never touch you again and you knew he’d never look at you the way you wanted anyway. To him, it was casual sex. Dean wouldn’t let himself love you over his own martyr-complex.

Sam knocked on the door at some point in the evening. You’d tried to distract yourself by binging Iron Fist on Netflix, but it wasn’t doing the trick and you knew that your face was puffy from crying.

“Y/N?” He wasn’t going to go away. “You alright? You haven’t come out all afternoon and your laundry finished hours ago.”

You’d forgotten about the laundry. “I’ve got a headache,” you called back, willing him to leave. There was a second of silence and then his footsteps echoed away from your bedroom door. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks and you curled yourself into a ball.

You should pack a bag. Leave them to it. You weren’t doing any good here and they didn’t need you underfoot. Dean was happier with just his brother, no complications.

When you got up from the bed, wiping your face with a new determination, your stomach churned at the realization your duffel was still in the trunk of the Impala. You’d have to go out there, past them, to get to it.

No big deal. If they asked, you’d forgotten your bag and were just fetching it. You’d wait until they were both asleep and leave.

Sam looked up when you walked into the library, smiling at you, completely derailing your plan. “Hey, Y/N! How are you feeling?”

His question got Dean’s attention and he looked up at you. He was obviously freshly showered - his hair was still damp. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” you stuttered. “Just a headache.” You side-stepped around them toward the war room, hunching your shoulders and stuffing your hands in your pockets as you headed toward the garage. When you returned, Sam was gone and Dean sat alone at the table, reading intently.

You didn’t want to disturb him and you sneaked by without saying a word. He didn’t give any sign he even noticed you were there and you bolted down the hallway, colliding with Sam on his way back from the bathroom. He grabbed your shoulders before you could panic.

“Whoa, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you snapped back, eyes wide as he held you in place. Sam frowned, shaking his head. “I mean, my head hurts and I just wanna lay down.”

His fingers relaxed on your arms and pulled away. “Did you and Dean fight?” he asked softly and you froze. “He’s been off with me all day and I know he was crying.”

You swallowed, shaking your head. “No. Maybe he’s just finding it rough going through the storage lockers.” Sam’s eyes didn’t change, staring at you sincerely, making you more nervous by the second.

“You’re probably right,” he muttered, stepping out of your way. “Get some rest, Y/N. I hope your head feels better.” Sam turned, heading back towards the library and you stood there, clutching your duffel bag and feeling like shit for what you were planning to do.

Shutting your bedroom door with a soft click, you headed for your dresser, emptying out all the necessities. It wasn’t like you were going to be gone forever. You just needed a little time to work Dean Winchester out of your system so you could stop making googly eyes at him when he didn’t want anything more than sex.

Wasn’t that hard, right?

It took hours for the bunker to fall silent and when you heard Sam’s bedroom door shut, you waited. Dean’s door never closed and you frowned, stepping over to the door and peeking out. His bedroom door was wide open and the light was on inside. You could hear… music.

Opening your door properly, you moved into the corridor, cautiously approaching Dean’s bedroom. You could see his shadow cast across the wall by the lamplight - he was hunched over something.

He was crying.

You hesitated. Dean didn’t show emotions like this. He shut down and bottled it up. And he likely wouldn’t want anyone, especially you, catching him in a weak moment. 

But he was hurting.

Could you really walk away from Dean knowing he was hurting and not do a single thing to help him?

Looking back at your room, your gaze landed on your duffel. It could go one of several ways. Option one was Dean gets mad, throws you out. You were leaving anyway. 

Option two; Dean gets mad, slams the door in your face and doesn’t talk to you for a while. Again, circling back around to your pending departure. 

Option three; You ignore it and walk away, letting him continue to suffer alone and pretend you don’t actually love him more than anything else on the planet.

Option four; Dean doesn’t get mad, confides in you, trusts you, opens up and you live happily ever after.

You almost snorted out loud at your own remark. This was ridiculous. His bedroom door was wide open. You, Sam, or Castiel could walk past at any moment. He usually kept it shut if he wanted to be left alone.

Sucking in a deep breath, you stepped forward, closing in on the bedroom. Dean’s soft sobbing had stopped and the music was “Hey Jude” playing on an old record player. You tilted your head, remembering seeing a whole bunch of records in one of the storage units.

He was sat cross-legged on the bed, looking for all the world like a heartbroken teenage boy, flicking through a photo album that sent dust billowing up into little clouds with each turn of a page. At least, he could partially blame his tears on that.

“Dean?” you asked, your voice coming out hideously croaky. His head snapped up and his eyes went wide.

“Y/N -” He slammed the photo album shut.

“The door was open,” you explained, “and you always shut it if… if you don’t want me to come in.”

Dean wiped his eyes hastily, tossing the book down to the side of the bed you couldn’t see. The song ended and the record skipped, waiting to be reset. “It’s okay,” he mumbled, scooting over on the bed and patting the covers. Cautiously, you approached, sliding into the spot you usually occupied when you slept in here.

It was rare you didn’t sneak out before dawn, too afraid of what morning would bring.

“You okay?” Your question made him raise his head from where he’d slipped back into thought.

“Yeah,” he smiled and you saw it then, like a mask slipping down over his features. He schooled everything that screamed out his pain and the only way to recognize it was to see it beforehand. Dean was a master of disguise, among his many talents. “Just not feelin’ so great,” he insisted, “but I’m sure we could figure out something to distract me.”

Sex. He was going back to that. Comfortable ground, you supposed. Most of Dean’s positive experiences had probably been in the bedroom; a small, petty part of you hoped most of them were with you.

“I didn’t come in here for that,” you whispered, shaking your head. The truth was, you weren’t exactly aroused at that moment - you were too busy being concerned. “You were crying.” His expression closed off.

“Dust,” he dismissed, getting up from the bed and heading over to the record player. “Look, if you’re not up for a round or three, I’m tired.”

You scowled, remaining on the covers stubbornly. “Talk to me.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Dean,” you snarled, raising your voice. “Talk to me or - or - or -”

“Or what?” he snapped, turning on you. “You’ll leave? Go right a-fucking-head, sweetheart, because that’s what  _ everyone _ does.” The growled remark sent you reeling back against the headboard and Dean’s anger only escalated. He was finally losing control over his emotions and he stomped towards the door. “Here, I’ll help you pack.”

“Dean!” You jumped up from the bed with a scream, chasing after him and Sam opened his bedroom door, gun cocked and half-asleep, wondering what the hell was going on. Dean stumbled, almost drunk, into your room, heading for the chest of drawers and tripping over the paced duffel bag you’d left by the door.

Making it to the door just behind him, you looked down in horror as he realized what he’d fallen over.

The look on his face when he gazed up at you made you want to die.

“You…” Sam was in the doorway now as Dean tried to speak. “You were gonna leave?”

“No… I…” You couldn’t lie. “Just for a few days.” Okay, maybe you could.

The anguish on Dean’s features didn’t go away and you swallowed down your nerves, stepping forward to reach out to him. “No,” he hissed, jerking back and getting to his feet, towering over your smaller frame. “You wanna leave?” he growled. “Then fucking leave.” He picked up the duffel and threw it at you.

You burst into tears, watching him stalk out of the room as Sam watched in shock from the doorway.

“You’re leaving?” he asked sounding like a lost child, so much younger than he actually was. “Why?”

“Sam, please, I’m not -”

Sam frowned, shaking his head, his messy hair flying all over the place when he did. “Don’t you wanna be here anymore?”

“I do,” you insisted, tears dripping from your jaw onto the collar of your shirt. “I do, Sam, but… Dean’s angry at me. I upset him,” you sniffed, making a disgusted face at the sudden blockage in your nose, “and now he’s angry at me and I shouldn’t be here.”

“He needs you,” Sam whispered. “You can’t leave him, Y/N.”

“He doesn’t need me,” you replied, shaking your head and looking away. “He was happier before me.” You hugged your duffel bag and moved towards the door. “I’ll keep my cell on. If you need anything -”

“He does,” Sam attempted, reaching out to grab your arm. You dodged his grasp and backed away down the corridor.

Dean’s door was shut.

Fresh tears spilled over your cheeks and you turned away, running for the garage as fast as you could. It was better this way or at least, that was the lie you could tell yourself.

*****

“You’re just doing what he expects!” Sam yelled, chasing after you as you hurried through the bunker corridors. You were almost into the garage, unsure which of the cars even worked. “Y/N, stop!” His voice bounced off of the walls.

“Let me go, Sam,” you threw back, heading for the key rack. Dean was meticulous about the vehicles down here and every key was color-coded and labeled. And he called Sam anal.

“No!” Sam growled, quickening his pace, apparently unfazed by the lack of socks or shoes on his feet. “The last time someone asked that of me, I didn’t give up, and I’m not about to now.”

His words made you slow and you remembered the note. You hadn’t been involved with them much back then but Sam had called you in on the hunt for his brother. An associate in passing before all of the hassles with the Mark, you became cemented in their daily lives and the odd encounter transformed into a working partnership.

And a little more besides.

“It doesn’t matter, Sam. He wants me to go.”

Sam sighed, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he caught up to you, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist as you reached for the keys to the old Citroen in the corner. “No, he doesn’t. He’s upset.”

“Because of me!” you cried, snatching your hand back. “You are better off -”

“Shut up,” Sam growled, his tone frightening you enough to make you step back and he held up his hands, palms flat. “You need to listen to me because between the two of you, I’m going grey. He doesn’t want you to go, Y/N, because he loves you and he is too much of an ass to do anything about it because he thinks he’s cursed.” You opened your mouth but Sam smashed his teeth together, one hand becoming a pointy finger that swayed in front of your eyes. “And you,” he continued, “are so in love with him that it may as well be a neon sign above your head when you look at him like he could hang the moon.”

Your cheeks felt like they were a thousand degrees hotter and you avoided Sam’s eyes. When his hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing gently, you looked back up, meeting his honest gaze.

“But you both gotta pull your heads outta your asses and get it together.” He chuckled. “Dean needs you, Y/N. And I need you too. You’re my best friend.”

Brand new tears tracked down your already sticky face and Sam pulled you into a hug. The heavy sobs hurt your throat when they escaped and you were certain Sam’s shirt would be soaked when you pulled away.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “If I’d left…”

“You’re not gonna,” Sam assured you. “This is your home, Y/N.” His big hands framed your face and he kissed your forehead before pulling back. “Go and tell my brother to stop being a bitch.”

*****

Should you knock?

The door stood solidly closed and you blinked at it, wondering if you should disturb Sam again to ask him. This was ridiculous. You’d been stood there for at least five minutes, just staring at the door.

If you knocked, Dean would likely ignore you.

Sucking in a breath, you moved closer, sliding your fingers around the handle, half-expecting it to burn you. But it opened with a click - at least he hadn’t locked it. You hadn’t really considered that possibility.

The door opened quietly, barely audible over the sound of “Travelling’ Riverside Blues”. Dean had his back to you, the book from earlier in his hands and from here, you could see the edge of it, realizing it was a photo album.

You closed the door behind you and Dean’s clenching jaw let you know he’d heard you enter.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and you froze, blinking in surprise at his apology.

“What are you sorry for?” you asked, puzzled. In your own head, you were entirely at fault here. You’d pushed him, made him relive a past he didn’t want. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I snapped at you,” Dean said, not moving an inch and you sighed, approaching the bed and sitting beside him. The photos in his hands were clearly family photos - a very young John and Mary Winchester smiled at the camera. One was a baby and a toddler, the baby wearing a “little brother” romper suit and the toddler wearing a “big brother” t-shirt. “You’re the last person I should be angry with.”

You bypassed that comment, reaching out to take the photo album. Robert Plant’s voice faded into the background as you dragged one finger over a photo of Mary and Dean at Christmas, sitting underneath the tree as Dean opened his presents.

“Your dad kept this?” The question was met with a nod from Dean and you looked up at him, seeing how tear-stained his cheeks were. “I thought he’d lost everything in the fire.”

Dean shook his head. “Only Sam’s nursery was gutted. They stopped the fire spreading. Dad got some things out.” He gestured to the photo album. “That wasn’t the only one.”

“Have you shown Sam?” you prodded gently and Dean sighed.

“I don’t know how to even start. Everything I took out of there…” He looked up at the ceiling, obviously fighting his own emotions. “That locker was the one closest to Lawrence. There weren’t any relics or weapons.” You stared at him; true, all you’d found was trash and the things John kept from their childhood. “I think…” Dean sucked in a breath, “I think that’s where Dad kept everything after Mom died.”

Your eyes dropped back to the book. It was hard to imagine how Dean was feeling, finding this place full of memories after all these years. Proof that John had kept something of their life before even if they’d found out that life was based on a lie.

“I kept a few of the school reports,” you admitted, quietly, not looking at him. You weren’t even sure why you were telling him.

Dean chuckled, nodding. “I know. You’re not really that sneaky.”

Narrowing your eyes, you lifted them to his face, seeing a genuinely affectionate smile on his face. “I’m not leaving,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything; his hand moved, taking hold of yours and squeezing. “I’m glad to hear that,” he murmured after a few moments that could have been awkward, but you were too busy marveling at how many different shades of green and brown were in his eyes. “I don’t know what I do without you.”

An attempt at levity left your lips before your brain could stop it. “You’d have to work on your pick up lines.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. It started as a smirk that bubbled into laughter, dragging you along for the ride. His hand held yours tightly and the amusement died out as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m a mess.”

“Still pretty sexy,” you offered, shrugging and he smiled again, genuinely, his eyes brightened with the expression. “Dean, I… I can’t pretend to know what you’re feeling. But I can be here for you. I’m your friend. I’m here for whatever you need.”

“What if I don’t need a friend?” he asked, his voice breathy and low. You stared at him, unsure if you’d heard right. “No chick-flick moments,” Dean murmured, his other hand cupping your cheek and you licked your lips unconsciously. “Just you and me. Being honest.”

“H-honest?” you whispered, suddenly realizing he was drifting closer. He was going to kiss you.

Neither of you was drunk. Neither of you was recovering from yet another near-death experience. This wasn’t an outlet for aggression and horniness. It was a  _ real _ kiss, the soft kind you saw in Disney movies that had the princess lifting one dainty foot off of the floor.

“Honest,” Dean confirmed and then it happened.

His lips were soft and warm, brushing over yours, almost hesitant at first until you pushed back. Dean took the book from your hands without looking, dropping it to the floor, not breaking the kiss for a second. You moaned into his mouth, pressing your tongue against his, letting him in.

The kiss ended abruptly as both of you struggled to breathe and Dean’s lust-blown pupils swallowed the color of his irises. “I don’t want casual. You’re not just my friend, Y/N. The thought of making it through another day without knowing you’re there?” He shook his head, smiling widely. “It kills me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you murmured, frowning and shaking your head back at him. “You… I…” A frustrated growl left your lips and you slapped his shoulder lightly. “You ass! I thought you hated me!”

“Hate you?” he exclaimed, ducking another blow, laughing at your irritation. “How the hell could I hate you? I’m in love with you!”

The proclamation made you stop, one hand in the air and a look of shock on your face. “What?”

Dean met your eyes. “I’m in love with you.”

“But -” Your hand dropped into your lap. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Is that a problem?” His gaze was mischievous. “I mean, I tried not to but that kinda didn’t work.” Was he blushing? “You’re just… way too awesome.”

Once again, your brain rushed to the rescue with  _ exactly _ the wrong thing to say. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk like a teenager?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he chuckled, pulling you with him onto the bed, ignoring your shriek of protest. “What have I gotta do to prove it to you?” You landed beside him, surrendering to the kiss he demanded.

“I don’t know,” you confessed, “is there anything we haven’t done?” His face lit up and you knew where his mind had gone. “No.”

“Aww,” he groaned, deflating, before perking up and leaning in to nuzzle your cheek with his nose in a very unlike-Dean manner. You pulled back, frowning at him and he frowned back. “What?”

“You’re… different. All of a sudden. Like, big mood swing.”

He shrugged. “And?”

“Dean, I worry about you,” you told him, touching his face. “A lot. And I’m not gonna let you use sex to derail a serious conversation we need to have.” The sexy playfulness disappeared, his mask lifting again. You’d seen it now and it had to be addressed. He was killing himself by bottling it up or drowning it in another bottle entirely. “Talk to me,” you whispered, “please.”

A sigh made his entire body shudder and he rolled away, laying on his back and looking at the ceiling again. You followed, resting your head on his chest, one hand across his belly. Dean closed his eyes and you watched, giving him as much time as he needed.

“How do you see right through me?” he whispered.

You smiled, looking up at his face, watching his eyes open slowly, pupils shrinking as he focused on you. “Because I’m full of the same shit.”

*****

Unloading all of his fears, concerns, nightmares and lost hopes had exhausted him more than he already was. You couldn’t sleep, too full of the things he’d confessed to you, trusting they’d never leave the room. And they wouldn’t, but you needed to process.

Dean was asleep, one arm slung around your waist, his head resting on your belly. You laid flat on the bed, one leg bent at the knee, one hand combing through his short hair as he slept. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch - he slept soundly and you knew it was probably the first night in a while that he had.

On and off, you napped, still stroking the back of his head, almost protecting him as he slumbered, his fingers draped over your hip. He was unbearably warm and after a few hours, your body started to protest.

“You okay?” Dean mumbled, not lifting his head. His voice tickled your belly where your shirt had ridden up.

“You’re really hot.”

“Awww,” he chuckled, finally looking up at you. “You’re too kind.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed him off, stripping out of your sweater and pants, leaving you in just underwear and a t-shirt. Dean’s eyes bugged and he licked his lips, tilting his head.

“And suddenly I’m not sleepy anymore.” You had barely put your knee back on the bed when he reached for you, dragging you down with a squeak. “Hey,” Dean chirped, grinning before he was kissing you until you couldn’t breathe. A palm to his shoulder made him stop, his amused expression making you scowl.

He moved, sliding down and you didn’t protest, too aroused to want to fight him. Dean made quick work of removing your panties, flinging them across the room.

“You won’t be needing them for a while,” he drawled, pushing your thighs apart with his big hands before lowering his mouth to your slit. You were already getting wet and Dean groaned as he eased two thick digits into your channel. “Fuck, baby, you ready for me?”

“Want your tongue,” you gasped and he chuckled, dragging the aforementioned organ across your slit, stopping at your clit before tearing away. You arched and mewled at the teasing touch and Dean crooked his fingers, making your whole body spasm.

“Like that?” he asked, his voice a rumble that felt like it made your thighs shake.

“Yes.” Your answering hiss trailed off into a cry as he repeated the action, again and again until you were almost sobbing for relief. Dean growled against you, increasing the pace of his fingers sliding in and out, dragging the tips along the very top of your inner walls.

He hit your g-spot with exact timing, sucking your clit into his mouth, moaned around your flesh. Your pussy clenched and you screamed, gripping his head with your fingers and you fought the urge to shut your thighs. Dean didn’t stop until the second the tension flooded out of your body, his hand wet with the evidence as he withdrew.

The smile on his face was smug as all hell and you gasped for breath, trying to recover, feeling him move off of the bed. Dean stripped and grabbed a condom from the bedside table, but you were quicker than he expected, sitting up and reaching out for him before he could tear the packet.

“Don’t,” you insisted, wrapping your hands around his hips and drawing him closer. His cock bobbed, thick and leaking, inches from your lips and you smiled up at him sweetly when your fingers encircled his hard flesh. “I hate the taste of those things.” You kitten licked the tip of his cock, tasting his pre-cum on your tongue. Dean groaned and his arms went slack; the condom was tossed to the bed for later usage.

He remained still as you worked him into your mouth, inch by inch. Dean was by no means small. Or average. His dick was big enough that you’d only managed once or twice to deep-throat him, and even then you’d gagged too much. But you knew the tricks; you’d learned every single way to make Dean Winchester sob with the need to cum.

Big hands combed through your hair, holding it out of your face and giving the appearance that he was guiding you. In reality, they were for support only and the control was entirely yours. You closed your eyes, slotting your hand at the base of his cock firmly, still bobbing back and forth on his shaft. Dean groaned and gasped, his cock throbbing between your lips.

You raised your free hand from where it was resting on his thigh to cup his balls delicately, massaging them between your fingers. Dean’s ass tensed and his cock jerked in your mouth; a strained groan dropped from his plump lips and you had to look up to see his face.

Pure bliss covered his expression. His eyes were closed, lips parted oh-so-slightly, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. Dark lashes against his cheeks made his freckles stand out and you couldn’t help but smile around his dick, lifting yourself off with a wet pop.

You trailed your tongue along his shaft, tracing the thick veins on the underside before coming back up to tease his slit. Dean’s eyes were open now, focusing on you, his breathing becoming heavier by the second. Repeating the action, you didn’t stop at the base, continuing down to run your tongue over his sac, sucking as lightly as possible on the sensitive skin.

Dean snarled, his fingers tightening in your hair and the sound made your lower body clench in anticipation. You were perched on the edge of the bed now, enthusiastically sliding your tongue over Dean’s balls, gradually moving back up to the tip of his shaft. Taking a breath like you were going for an Olympic dive, you took his saliva-slicked cock into your mouth, angling it so that it hit the back of your throat just enough to tickle at your uvula.

He fell apart. Dragging you off of his cock, he threw you back onto the bed and you scrambled away, shedding your t-shirt. Dean practically pounced, pushing you onto your back and covering your body with his, his knees bruising your thighs where he forced your legs open.

You couldn’t protest or scream - not that you wanted to - when Dean seized your lips in a kiss that had his tongue thrusting in and out of your mouth. The tip of his cock bumped against your entrance but he had you pinned, unable to arch up and take the pleasure you wanted.

“Please,” you groaned, the words muffled against his demanding lips. Dean snarled, his teeth grazing your lower lip where it pouted out and his hips pressed against your open thighs. His cock teased its way inside you and he stopped halfway, letting you catch a breath before he pulled back. “Dean,” you whined, grabbing his shoulders as he lifted off of your torso. “Fuck me.”

His cock twitched where the head rested just inside the warmth of your body and with one hard brutal stroke, he penetrated you. It was intense, almost to the point of overwhelming, and you felt a rush of air force its way out of your lungs in what you expected to be an Exorcist-worthy scream.

The breathy and pleasured gasp you gave was smothered by Dean’s mouth. He kissed you as if his life depended on it, hips picking up a steady rhythm that drove his cock into your cervix over and over. A flash of something important made you squeal and you slapped your hands on his chest, pushing him away.

You expected to see disappointment in his eyes but all you saw was concern. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, looking down and pulling away.

“Condom,” you rushed out and Dean’s eyes went wide.

“Shit. Sorry, baby. I got caught up.”

You smiled, searching around the bed for the missing condom. Locating it, stuck to your left ass cheek, you held it up and Dean blushed, snatching it from your grasp. He tore the packet and rolled it on, groaning.

“Goddamn, I hate these things,” he grumbled and you giggled.

“Necessity, baby,” you whispered, pulling him back towards the bed. “I know it feels good when there’s nothing between us,” Dean groaned at that, rubbing his latex-covered cock over your slit, “and I wanna feel it too.” He lined up and slid back inside you, both of you moaning as the connection was reestablished. Dean held still for a moment, throbbing inside you, his cockhead buried snug inside the deepest parts of your body.

A wicked thought replaced the responsible one.

“I think about it a lot,” you purred, sliding your palms up to comb your fingers through his short hair. “How good it would feel when you cum inside me. Feeling you warm me up from the inside.” Dean’s pupils obliterated the color in his eyes. “I think about how it would feel dribbling out of me.”

“You’re…” he gasped, his hips shaking with the restraint he was exhibiting.

“Maybe…” you lowered your voice even more, purposefully clenching your pussy walls around his thick cock and Dean groaned, eyes closing halfway as he tried to stop thinking about your words. “Maybe one day, we could do it. You could fuck me bare until I’m filled with your spunk.”

Dean snapped and shut you up with a bruising kiss that accompanied a harsh thrust. He didn’t stop, sliding his hands down underneath your ass to lift it so he could pound you into the mattress even harder. His breathing was uneven, spattered with growls that spilled against your lips, and you gave as good as you got, tugging on his hair and biting at his throat when he gave you a chance to breathe.

Your climax came first; your entire body arched off of the bed and your legs shook, your pussy clenched tightly along with every other muscle in your body. Dean snarled and buried his face in your neck, sucking a mark into the skin as you trembled through the aftershocks.

His pace slowed and he stopped working on the hickey, lifting his face so he was looking you in the eye, noses almost touching. He said nothing and you smiled, cupping the back of his head to kiss him, letting him know that you understood everything he didn’t say out loud.

The kiss seemed to last forever and Dean grunted into your mouth as he came, spilling into the condom and you whimpered, holding onto him tightly as he finished inside you. 

When he slipped away to clean up, you grabbed the covers from the bottom of the bed and dragged them over yourself, smiling at Dean when he returned and slid in beside you. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your waist and snuggling into you from behind.

“Didn’t realize you had such a dirty mouth,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck.

“I didn’t realize how much you liked it,” you replied, thinking for a second. “Wait, are we talking about the blow job or the dirty talk.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he complained and you giggled, wiggling down against him, feeling his soft cock nestle between your asscheeks. “Nope. I need at least ninety minutes nap time before you get anything outta me again.”

You yawned, feeling the tiredness tug on your own consciousness. “Good idea.” Dean chuckled and everything was quiet for a second.

“Y/N,” he asked, barely audible and you opened your eyes and turned a little. “You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”

His voice sounded tired and little-boy-lost, and you squeezed your eyes shut, nodding as you returned to your original position. “I’ll always be here, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
